I sought him out because I wanted to work on my trust issues with men.
The first time I sat down on the couch in his plant-filled office, I sobbed. His doughy body and cherub-like face were warm and inviting. I took comfort in the fact that I wasn’t at all attracted to him. He felt like a father-figure to me. I was able to open up with him the way I wanted to be able to open with my own father.
It was in the quiet moments between my emotional unraveling that he inserted his desires. “Maybe you should try not having sex right now. What we have here is intimacy. This relationship we are fostering in this room is authentic. You don’t need sex for real intimacy.”
His words elicited mixed feelings. They were soothing to my ears but stirred up a deep discomfort in my soul.
Curious? Read on.
Writing is like lovemaking.
It requires foreplay.
It needs to flirt with thoughts and notes and voice memos throughout the day.
It needs to be needed — constantly.
Sometimes it wants to play rough and make you work for it.
Sometimes it wants to make love to you with soft kisses and gentle caresses all night long.
Sometimes it wants to tease you until you cum unexpectedly with a piece that is utter perfection.
Soul Writer. Single Mama. Life ponderer. Nature Lover. Therapist. Introvert. HSP & Empath. Life is my playground and each day a blank canvas.